Christmas Without Edges

When I was a teacher,  I asked some form of this question to my students each year before Christmas: 

“In my neighborhood of 200 or so homes, there are 5-6 homes with Christian decorations out front, and well over 100 homes with lights, Santa’s, reindeer and other inflatables. Roughly 80% of all Americans would say they are Christian.  Why, then, do you think we’re so reluctant to profess that faith at Christmas time? “

“People don’t want to be preachy,” they tell me.  “Yeah, they don’t want to come off as better than their neighbors,” another says.  “I think it creates awkwardness,” says another, “better to play it safe.” 

I’m pretty sure my students are correct. We don’t want to imply that we’re more religious than our neighbors, so we opt for the lowest common denominator, choosing instead to celebrate fictional children’s stories:  large blowups of Frosty the Snowman, or Santa riding in his sleigh, or Rudolph grazing with other reindeer. 

I’m not a killjoy! I’ve raised four children, and when they were young, part of our Christmas tradition was to drive around neighborhoods, oohing and aahing at the lights, “rating” who put on the best “show.” 

But at the same time, we're in danger of losing something precious, aren't we? By not celebrating the Christian story explicitly, by reducing our Christmas decorations to those which give least offense, I fear we’re losing the sharp edges of Christmas that make it such a compelling story-- full of human emotion, irony and beauty. And if we rub down these sharp edges, what’s left?  

Consider what the gospels tell us. Mary and Joseph are compelled to travel from Nazareth to Bethlehem for reasons of the census, with Mary soon to give birth. That’s a distance of 90 miles, by donkey, which would likely take three, maybe four days. We don’t know Mary’s exact age—Scripture says a “young virgin”—but at that time girls were often married  just after menstruation, so scholars believe Mary was likely on the younger side of the teenage years. In her ninth month, she would have been terribly uncomfortable on that trip, terrified at the prospect of her first birth like all mothers, and undoubtedly cranky. If Joseph was the typical husband of his day, he'd have been about 19-20 years old (not the older man that some Christian artists depict). He would also be weary from the trip, worried for his wife, uncertain of himself, frantic at not finding a suitable place for the birth. He must have felt like a lousy provider. 

And what about that stable? Perhaps because of the influence of Christmas carols like “Silent Night,” we tend to imagine the stable animals as quiet, docile things, staring lovingly at the newborn, glow in the dark, Christ-child. But surely it was a horrible racket of nay-ing horses, baa-ing sheep and bleating goats! New mothers and newborns need sleep, so this was a terrible state of affairs! Mary must have been utterly exhausted. Our carols talk about the “sweet smelling hay.”  Well, there was certainly a smell, but it would have been from animal manure, the stench of which can be overwhelming.

Forgetting all this, we miss the great irony of Christmas: the angels proclaiming to the shepherds, “Glory to God in the Highest!”  and “A savior has been born, who is Christ, the Lord!” Might they have imagined a great king, born of a royal household? Instead they find a much lowlier state of affairs: the newborn infant of a peasant carpenter and mother, lying in a feeding trough. Did the manger still have remnants of the slop fed to the animals? If not, I’m sure it retained the odor. 

And what of the warning that Joseph and Mary had to smuggle Jesus out of Bethlehem to Egypt, to avoid the murderous intent of Herod? That reads more like a spy novel than a sweet children’s tale.

We do this often to the gospels, which have become so familiar to us that we miss the human element—the "hooks" that grab us. We’ve reduced the cross, for example, to jewelry, forgetting the brutality of ancient crucifixions. When I speak to students about crucifixion, I point out that Rome maximized its deterrent effect, first by forcing the crucified person to carry the upper beam through public streets, then by humiliating him by stripping him naked, and then by prolonging his death on the cross for 2, 3 or 4 days, expertly avoiding the major arteries when hammering in the nails. The crucified person would eventually die of suffocation, too weak to push up with his legs to regain his breath. "Death by crucifixion was so excruciatingly painful," I remind them, "that breaking the legs of the crucified with a sledge hammer to hasten suffocation was considered an act of mercy."

One student, after listening to tall this, asked “Mr. Weber, all this Christian fascination with Jesus’ death, isn’t it, well, a little morbid? If Jesus had come today, would Christians 2,000 years from now be wearing little electric chairs or syringes around their necks?”  “Yes! Exactly so!” I said, delighted. Such was the cross regarded in its day. But morbid? No. In fact the opposite: the cross becomes the instrument for our salvation. 

And so, my prayer for all of us this Christmas is that we are “snagged” once again by the jagged edges of the gospel, so that in our celebration of Christmas,  we're brought back to the foot of the crib, filled with awe and gratitude.

He is Emmanuel, "God with us!" Come, let us worship him! 

Merry Christmas. 

Waiting!

We are in the middle of Advent. The word “advent” means “coming,” and of course, it’s a reference to the coming of Christ at Christmas. So over the next four weeks, we await the coming of Christ.

We’re not very good at waiting. We want everything immediately! Think about it: The fast food industry has exploded in the last thirty years because people want their food quickly, and don’t have the time or patience to cook it at home. We have fast food drive-through lines because it’s "way too much work" to park the car, walk several feet and stand in line to order. And even with drive-through lines, if you’re like me, you become impatient if the line is not moving quickly enough! Now we have Dash and UberEats, which delivers food right to our door. 

In this digital world of ours,  information can be shared instantly, which is fantastic on one level, but dangerous on another, as it’s too easy to text someone when we’re angry at him or her,  before we’ve given ourselves a chance to cool down. We have overnight printing, overnight mailing, instant food, microwave ovens—all things that allow us to get what we want now, without waiting. If we want something and can’t afford it, no need to wait and save for it—we have credit cards! The average American adult has an alarming nine open credit card accounts and carries an average debt on those cards of $8,000.  The T-Mobile song says "I want it all. I want it all. I want it all, and I want it NOW!"

So it’s hard for us to wait for Christmas—we hardly wait for anything else. Stores are already in the full court press, pushing us to get all our Christmas shopping done. I was in a local store in October, before Halloween, and they were already playing Christmas carols.  So in Church we’re singing “O Come O Come Emmanuel” but everywhere we go we’re hearing “Joy to the World, the Lord has Come. “

I want to suggest two simple things we can all do that may help us step back from the helter-skelter world of the instant, the “now” that we all live in—two things that might help us better focus on the event we will celebrate on December 25 and thus help us have a better Advent.

The first is this: Nothing helps us tune into the true “reason for the season” better than helping other people.  There’s not a better time to do it. The Christmas season is a very lonely time for many elderly, as they miss their spouses who have died, or perhaps their children who don’t visit them enough.  Do you have an elderly grandparent or other relative? Visit them--just you. Ask your mom and Dad if they can drop you off and pick you up. It'll make a world of difference to them. What about another older relative? An aunt? A great aunt? What about an elderly neighbor? You showing an interest in them will have a huge impact.   Be there for them! 

You know, it’s pretty common that we, too, can get depressed or start feeling blue at this time of year, and our tendency is to say to ourselves, “I need some time for myself”, some “me time” but that’s exactly backwards. The best way to get us out of our funk is to focus on the needs of others, to make others happy. This is a great time of year to do it.

My second suggestion to get us ready for Christmas, to help us more fully appreciate this Advent season, is to spend about 10 minutes/day in prayer, asking God to lead you, bringing your worries before him, seeking him for guidance on decisions you must make about friends and personal issues. God accepts all styles of prayer!  We just need to turn off our cell phones, thank God for all he's done for us, and then bring our worries and prayers to him.  We don’t lean enough on God—but unless we lean, we cannot feel him pushing back, holding us up. And so we put all this pressure on ourselves to make good grades, go to the right high school, worrying about what people think about us, instead of sharing those worries with God and asking him to help us.

If we go outside of ourselves to help others, if we pray and lean on God during these next few weeks, I think we’ll find this Advent season, this time of waiting, will help prepare us more fully for the most important event in human history. 

May we use our time well.

Why POP?

Dear prospective parent of POP, 

“Ask me why!” the badge said on the girl at the grocery store checkout line. Intrigued, I asked her, and she gave me a cheerful, well-rehearsed answer.

Choosing a school for our children is much more important than where we shop!

Even so, it’s exactly the right question in trying to decide on the place our kids will best flourish.  So here's my take on the question, “Why Prince of Peace?” 

It’s not because our program is versatile, or that our students’ national test scores are high, or that our teachers are kind and caring. These are true, but they’re not enough. Rather, it’s the culture we’re trying to build here, and the hope we have for each child in our care. 

C.S. Lewis, in his book, Mere Christianity, catches the sense of it when he writes: 

“Imagine yourself as a living house. God comes in to rebuild that house. At first, perhaps, you can understand what He is doing. He is getting the drains right and stopping the leaks in the roof and so on; you ​knew that those jobs needed doing and so you are not surprised. But presently He starts knocking the house about in a way that hurts abominably and does not seem to make any sense. What on earth is He up to? The explanation is that He is building quite a different house from the one you thought of - throwing out a new wing here, putting on an extra floor there, running up towers, making courtyards. You thought you were being made into a decent little cottage: but He is building a palace. He intends to come and live in it Himself.”

Our task at POP is to cooperate with God’s grace in the life of children to help them become “palaces”—we might even say “cathedrals” where the Lord lives and through which his light shines! Each day at POP,  our students are reminded that God loves them and desires their happiness! No, growing up isn’t always easy, and as C.S. Lewis reminds us, there will be some hurt and disappointment along the way. But nurtured by a joyful culture of faith, optimism and just the right amount of challenge, we believe that children here grow in confidence, wisdom and grace. 

Though we'll never be perfect, we consider this task worthy of our best efforts and our most noble hopes. We invite you to join us in building such a school for your child and other children. We're in this together! 

Faustin Weber

President

Prince of Peace Catholic School

Plano, TX.

Reflections on 9/11, Twenty-one Years Later

These were my remarks to students during assembly on 9/11/2022: 

You may have noticed our flags are at half mast today. Twenty one years ago today, we were horrified to watch planes fly into the World Trade Center and into the Pentagon, and a fourth plane crash in Pennsylvania. Nearly 3,000 were killed, the deadliest terrorist attack on American soil in our history. We remember all those who died that day. We also continued to pray for the family members who still feel their loss today. 

I was just 1 when our president, John F. Kennedy was assassinated,  22 when the space shuttle Columbia blew up, and 39 on 9/11/2021 when we were attacked. For people who lived through it—and I think your teachers will agree with me—it’s the worst public event we’ve witnessed in our lifetimes.

There have been a lot of articles written about the lasting impact on 9/11 and the toll it’s taken on the United States, even beyond those killed that day. Among other things, we’ve fought two wars, in Afghanistan and Iraq, with many lives lost and billions of dollars spent. 

But I would argue the longest lasting impact is we’ve lost a lot of trust in each other. You can see that in airport security check points. You can see that in the millions of security cams we’ve put everywhere. Schools are required to have them—we have 35 of them.  In homes: “Ring” Doorbells for front doors, hidden cams in our homes. Cities have web cams everywhere. Cars have them on their dashboards. You can scarcely do anything without being recorded. 

And because of this felt loss of privacy, Americans have tried to counter by protecting their privacy, turning “inward.”  Just look at our neighborhoods. If you were flying over the typical middle class neighborhood today, and comparing to 21 years ago, you’d notice two striking differences: privacy fences, and the proportion of house size (huge) to lawn size (small). We don’t go outside as much, and we’ve separated ourselves from our neighbors.

Our smart phones have contributed to this. One of the great ironies of our time is despite the fact these phones give us almost unlimited potential to connect with each other, in fact they more often than not separate us. We look down, and not out. When I walk in the morning, I often pass 7 teenagers waiting for the bus, standing next to each other. What are they typically doing? All on the phone! Of course!  But it isn’t just teenagers. It’s adults, too. I was at a restaurant recently, and there was a family two tables over—a grandmother, a mom and dad, and 2 teens—and they were ALL on their phones, even grandmother!

People ask me, from time to time, why we have a “no cell phone during school hours” policy. It’s precisely for this reason. We want you to look up! We want you to notice each other, to talk with each other, to turn outward, not inward. The joy is in the interactions. The joy is in the friendships. That’s why I was so happy last week with our club fair, when so many of you were signing up for clubs to join this year. Dive in to these clubs, and you’ll build real friendships here. I know it’s awkward, and little bit scary to join something new, but it’s a risk worth taking. 

Let us continue to pray for the families of the victims of 9/11. But let us also pray for ourselves, that we will look up, that we will trust ourselves to each other, and that we will forge lasting friendships that will bring joy to our lives. 

Fond Farewell

Because our house in Daphne sold so quickly, for the last few weeks Diane and I have been living in a friend’s guest house in Fairhope, very close to the Mobile Bay. My morning walks have improved considerably; I now walk down the bay to the Fairhope Public Pier, then down the pier. The sun is just rising from the east as I walk back, reminding me, once again, how breathtakingly beautiful this place is. 

It’s easy to take all this for granted. I grew up in Mobile. During my teenage years, my good friend had a bay house on County Rd 1, south of Scenic 98. They had a pier that stretched out 400 feet over the water,  with a covered landing at the end. We spent many weekends there, fishing, playing music, sailing, laughing and teasing. That was nearly 45 years ago, but the memories come roaring back as I walk alongside the bay each morning and soak it all in. Something about the open water brings us full circle, calming us and slowing us down.

I will miss this place. I will miss its beauty and southern charm. I will miss the kindness of strangers, who engage you in friendly “hello’s” or small talk as you  pass them by. I will miss the oak trees, draped in Spanish moss, and the sounds of laughter and faint music, which carry across the water from some unknown source. I’ve learned that retired people love their dogs, and can be seen at all parts of the day, out walking them.  There’s indeed a “peaceful, easy feeling” here. No one is in a particular hurry. 

My first impression of Plano is different: More traffic, a much younger town, with people in their mid-careers, successful,  hustling to get ahead. Things are just busier there, and it’ll take some getting used to. But we believe it’s where God wants us, for now. My daughter is there, with her four daughters, ages 6, 4, 3 and 1, and we don’t want them to grow up without knowing us. 

And perhaps, though I am conflicted about this, it’s time to move on from St. Michael as well. It’s been an incredible joy ride these last seven years to start this school with the people of Baldwin County. I’ve been able to take all my best ideas from leading two other Catholic high schools for 26 years, propose them for this school, and see them flourish. Our success has been astounding on every level: enrollment, philanthropy, test scores, A.P. results, athletic accomplishments, and real advances in the arts, music and band. The life of faith here is vibrant and strong. I am proud of the school we’ve created together. 

But there does come a point in every school, I believe, where the “cutting edge” ideas experienced by the first wave of students and parents become the “status quo” ideas by the second and third wave. Storefronts need occasional make-overs. So do schools, and the easiest way to do that is change out the leadership. “Letting go” is tough for the founder of any institution, even when that person senses, deep down, it’s time to do so. From that release comes a grace and a humility (not my strong suit) which is good for the soul. I’ve felt the peace that comes with that, especially these last few weeks. 

So, “onward and upward.” I’ve used that phrase to close out my weekly communications with our parents and friends ever since our beginning. I mean it to suggest we should keep our gaze focused on our future (onward) but also on the Lord (upward). 

I’ve been asked hundreds of questions about our success here: “Why are donors so generous?”  “How do you have such great A.P. scores?”  “How did you land Philip Rivers as your coach?”  “What accounts for your strong enrollment? “ "How did you get such wonderful teachers?" In the end, the answer to all those questions is the same:  “God’s grace.” If we remember that, with humility, if we listen carefully to Him and have the conviction to go where He leads,  this school will continue to make a powerful difference—an eternal difference— in the lives of its students and families. 

May it always be so.

July 4, Abortion, and 'E Pluribus Unum'

This July 4th, instead of going to the fireworks display in our town, my wife and I scrolled the channels for the best fireworks coverage on TV, and landed on PBS, broadcasting from Washington D.C. The program featured a variety of popular musicians and entertainers singing and playing our country’s great anthems, like “America the Beautiful,” “God Bless America,” and “Yankee Doodle Dandy.” Its host was country music singer Mickey Guyton, who radiated joyfulness throughout the evening,  closing out the pre-fireworks program with her song, “All-American” (see above), the refrain of which is: “Ain’t we all, ain’t we all American?“ We were then treated to a spectacular fireworks display from the National Mall, bracketed by the Lincoln Memorial on one end, and the Washington Monument on the other. All through out the broadcast, the cameras panned the crowd, an eclectic mix of young and old, black, white, Latino, Asian—all smiling, waving flags, and singing patriotic songs.  For ninety glorious minutes, unlike SO much of our shrill political discourse, our differences didn’t matter—we simply celebrated our country’s birthday with pride. I was moved by it. 

That image is still with me, even as we enter into a new set of political circumstances regarding our nation’s most divisive social issue, abortion. 

The Supreme Court’s  decision in Dobbs, declaring that abortion is no longer a “constitutional right,” but must be decided by each state legislature, is a a great victory for the pro-life movement! I was eleven years old when Roe  was decided in 1973, and I never thought I’d see it overturned in my lifetime.  I share in the euphoria of the pro-life movement in its reversal. 

But I’ve read a lot of articles since, written by pro-life supporters, reminding us that “war" is not yet won, that we must now take the “battle” to each state legislature, and to metaphorically “gird up our loins” for the “fight” ahead in our state legislatures.

I agree there is much work still to do! But may I suggest we not frame the future in terms of warfare? The thing about a war is it automatically casts an “enemy,” and by gearing ourselves up for battle, we encourage the other side to gear up similarly. The issue is reduced to “us vs. them,” a matter of winning or losing. 

I believe we will make more progress if we begin by what we share in common, and work from there.  

I am not naive. I realize there are polarized extremes in this debate who scream at each other. There are political operatives that use the issue to foment dissent and acrimony for political advantage. But for the vast majority of America in the middle—people who don’t like screaming—I believe there is much we can work on together that begins to change the hearts and minds of our citizens. Building a culture of life is a long term proposition! 

I’m talking about things like this: Can we not all support crisis pregnancy centers that serve poor women, that among other things, help women understand how to get Medicaid insurance for pre-natal care and delivery? That give her emotional support, especially if she is in an abusive relationship? Can we not reform foster care laws in this country to protect foster parents from the natural parents changing their mind—one of the reasons foster parents often adopt in other countries? Can we not make men more accountable for the children they sire, insisting that pregnancy is mutual responsibility for both the mother and the father? Are we willing to truly tackle educational reform, so that young mothers and fathers have hope for their futures, and don’t feel “trapped” in their own helplessness and poverty? Can we not work for a society that promotes the nobility of families, helping homes become more stable, with children guided by a fatherly and motherly presence? 

It seems to me these are worthy goals, and by tackling them together, where-ever our starting point, we move closer to building a culture of life that allows us to pass legislation that protects life in all of its developmental stages, from the pre-born to the very old.  Would that one day the very idea of exterminating our young was morally repugnant to all!  

So yes, let’s work for laws which prohibit abortion in each of our states! But let us cast as wide a net as possible in building an alliance toward that end! 

The motto of our country is "E Pluribus Unum,” which translates, "out of the many, one." May God's grace help us work in union with all people of good will to tackle this issue which has so divided us. 

National Honor Society Induction Remarks

Note: These were my remarks to our newest National Honor Society class, inducted on March 16, 2022

Good evening.

Students, on behalf of our teachers and St. Michael Catholic High School, congratulations on this significant honor tonight.  We are a small school, and we know each other well. That your teachers think so highly of you speaks volumes. 

Let me share with you why I think National Honor Society is so important. 

Before I was a principal, I was a theology and English teacher. 

One day, a student asked me,” Mr. Weber, why do Catholics make such a big deal about the saints. I mean they’re dead, right? Shouldn’t we be looking to the future and not the past?”

It was a good question—he wasn’t being snarky. I could tell he meant the question seriously. 

I thought for a moment, then said, “For the same reason I have a picture of both of my grandfathers.” One was a chair of the school of orthodontics for the University of Tennessee for 30 years, and the other was a Naval Captain, who fought in WWII and later retired as an admiral. 

Why keep their pictures? Because they were both deeply ethical men who began their careers at the bottom of the ladder, and through hard work and the respect they gave and earned from others, rose to the top of their profession. Their pictures remind me of where I came from, who I am, and what I am called to do. 

But it’s even more than a reminder—the fact that my grandfathers lived this way helps me, inspires me, and pushes me to live the same way. 

And that’s why Catholics honor the saints—not out of a morbid fascination with dead people, but to remind us of what it looks like to live a virtuous life, and to inspire us to do the same. 

You see, we’re not very good at thinking about abstractions like sacrifice, or honor, or love. We live in a world of distractions, and our minds quickly drift away when we’re asked to reflect on these ideals. But when we SEE an honorable man do honorable things, when we WITNESS someone really sacrificing, when we are IN THE PRESENCE of two people who truly love each other, these virtues become real to us. We are inspired to live similarly. 

Which brings us to the reason we honor you tonight: Yes, we want to recognize what you have accomplished in this life and praise you for it. But much more importantly, we commission you to become EVEN MORE of a leader in this school and in our community, EVEN MORE a scholar, EVEN MORE a person of high character, willing to lead and inspire your friends to those same ends. 

Our world needs flesh and blood examples of virtue more so today than ever. Your classmates need you to stand strong, and to encourage others to stand strong. If the saints can inspire us to do these things, how much more can you do so as living, breathing examples to your peers? 

My congratulations as your principal for all you have done. It’s nice to be recognized, and you deserve it. But the pledge you took tonight— not just to maintain the ideals of the NHS, but to encourage others to live that way, too—is an important commission. Our world, our school, and your classmates need you to lead others to those ideals. 

May God bless you. If you seek his will, He will always give you the strength to follow it. 

Gloominess and Joy

(My talk with students at school assembly, March 7, 2022)

In our Ash Wednesday readings to begin Lent last week, Jesus tells us not to act “gloomy” in our fasting and almsgiving as the hypocrites do, seeking the acclaim of others. 

“Gloomy” is an interesting word. It’s close to being a onomatopoeia, a word that forms a sound like it means, such as “sizzle,” or “pop.” “Glooooooomy” almost makes you depressed just saying it. 

It's easy to be gloomy at this time of year.  Even today, it’s a bit overcast, and we’re just starting Lent, a season of fasting and almsgiving. Easter and Easter Break are a long way off. 

Gloomy people are unattractive for a number of reasons. When we are at our gloomiest, we are at our ugliest. Our face contorts, our shoulders slump, our “vibe” is bad, and worst of all, our gloom brings others down. People don’t want to be around gloomy people—they are like dementors from Harry Potter that suck out our souls.  

My wife and I were watching a TV show recently, and she said, out of the blue, “That may be the ugliest actor I’ve ever seen.” I had not noticed, but as I relooked at him and thought about it, I could see what she meant! But over the course of the show, he was transformed, and part of the “technique” he and the director used to convey that transformation was he began to smile more—and when he smiled, his countenance changed, and he became much more pleasant to look at.  

We’ve all seen the “before” and “after” pictures when companies advertise the effectiveness of their diet plans. Notice that in the “before” pic, the person is always portrayed as unhappy, frowning, face contorted,  but in the “after” pic, he or she is always smiling.  Smiling makes us more attractive. 

As it turns out, joyful people are magnets. They lift up our spirits. There’s a kind of radiance on their faces. 

God wants us to be joyful!

“But I don’t feel joyful,” Mr. Weber. “I can’t help how I feel.” 

Actually, we CAN help how we feel, and Jesus gives us that secret “life hack” as to how, over and over again in the gospels:  “Do unto others as you’d have them do unto you.” Put others first, he says.  Turns out when we do that, it changes our mood. It makes us smile more. Other people want to be around us more. We feel more powerful in that we can impact more people.  

Psychiatrists call it “bracketing,” when we can put ourselves off to the side, focus on others and enter into someone else’s world on his or her terms. 

I once listened to a beautiful piece on public radio about a middle aged man who took in his mother in law with severe Alzheimer’s to live with them. Alzheimers is a deterioration of the brain, where a person loses his or her memory, and in so doing, loses any real sense of self. His mother in law had been a very conservative, Christian woman, but in her advanced stages, she had taken to cursing. “I want some more ice cream, “ she’d say. Concerned for her weight, they’d tell her, “Mom, we’re all just having one serving." “ Give me more god d——- ice cream!” she’d scream back, in the presence of their young children.   

And they found themselves often needing to correct her. Pointing to a picture on the wall, she’d say, “President Reagan was a good president.” But they’d respond, “Mom, that’s your husband of 45 years, named  Jim. That’s not President Reagan.” And she’d always be unhappy, constantly getting it wrong. Which would make her curse all the more.  

It got to the point that they didn’t know what to do, and they were thinking of moving her to a nursing home.  But they began reading on caring for Alzheimer’s patients, and one of the books recommended “bracketing,” or moving into her world, however fantastical, however non-sensical, and engaging with her on her terms. 

Shortly thereafter, their mother looked outside at the birds in the trees, and said “Look, the monkeys are back.”  The son in law, almost corrected her, then remembered, and said “Back already? It seems like they’ve come early this year.” “No,” she corrected him, “this is about the time they always come. I wonder why they’re not wearing any clothes.” “Should we try to dress them?” He continued. “No, no, she said, “they’re too messy.  And so went the conversation. But at the end of it, the mother felt better about herself—she’d had a real conversation with someone. It was healing. The more they "bracketed," the less she cursed, and the happier she seemed before she eventually passed away. 

I was very moved by this story—about a husband's love for his wife, so much so that he was willing to take in his mother in law with severe Alzheimer's, and his kindness to her in her advanced state. 

But we can “bracket” too—though not as profoundly—by simply putting our egos aside and engaging with others on their terms. Doesn’t need to be too profound: “Hey, great hit last night. “ “Hey, that comment you made in class was really. Interesting, I’ve been thinking about it.” Or, “That’s a really nice shirt, or dress, or ensemble you’re wearing. “Hey, can I help you with that?” 

Heck, we can just smile at people more, even if we don’t feel like it.  

Here’s what happens. When we do that, when we focus on others, we become more joyful people. Our countenance changes. Smiling begets more smiling. Our faces become more beautiful, and we become more attractive to others. 

May all of us become less gloomy this Lent by becoming more other-centered. 

Good Priests, Good Men

I was recently on a zoom call of a national organization of Catholic school principals, and one principal lamented that the bishop had moved her “full time’ chaplain to “part-time.”  She took that as a sign of the Church’s diminishing commitment to Catholic education. 

That discussion reminded me of a meeting I had with Archbishop Rodi, the year before St. Michael opened in 2016. He told me that the pastors had been very supportive in the building and fund-raising phase of the school, and he wanted to keep them practically connected to the school once it was in operation. His idea was not to name any one particular priest the school’s “chaplain,” but ask each of the pastors of the parishes that financially supported the school to be “co-chaplains.”

Now there’s one school of thought, expressed to me by a friend of mine, that says “If you have 10 chaplains, you really have none.” I understand that sentiment. But I can say now, in this, our sixth year, the co-chaplaincy model is working VERY well. 

Each week, we have a school wide mass, and each week, we ask our co-chaplains to rotate through as lead celebrants. Frequently, they make themselves available during the lunch period which follows for confessions. They often attend our ball games at night. A few have agreed to be team chaplains, and pray with the team in the locker-rooms before games, and/or lead the fans in prayer over the announcements just before the game. Another has agreed to be on our advisory council. One co-chaplain comes to the school with holy water as we begin the school year and goes through each classroom, sprinkling both the room and the students in that room, praying for God’s blessings in the new year. One priest gathered together a few priest friends and seminarians, and challenged our basketball team to a scrimmage game in front of the student body during activity period. Our kids loved it. We had three priests show up to bless throats on the Feast of St. Blaise.  Our priests say mass with our faculty during professional development days, give talks, and often teach in our theology classrooms. 

Each priest, of course, is wonderfully different. Some are more cerebral, others more animated. Some love sports and use that as the basis of their homilies, where others may speak about their experiences abroad, or their love of music and the arts. Collectively, the diversity of their talents and interests match the diversity of interests in our student body.  If one priest doesn’t “connect” with a kid,  then there are others who probably will.

Archbishop Rodi leads on this front. Once a year he celebrates mass with the student body. In a second visit, he goes to each theology classroom and teaches every student in the school, taking him several days to do so. He teaches a lesson, then gives kids a chance to ask him questions. “Is it a sin to get a tattoo?” a student asked him recently.(“No, he said, “but are you sure you want that tattoo when you are a grandmother?”) “Why doesn’t the Church allow for divorce?” Do dogs go to heaven?” “How did you become a bishop?” He handles all of these with humor and delight—it is obvious to the kids that he enjoys being with them. And he does that in each of the three archdiocesan high schools—every year.

The result of this extraordinary commitment of the clergy is, I believe, a deeply immersive Catholic experience for our student body and teachers.  “There always seems to be a priest around here,” said a student within earshot of me recently. “Duh,” said his friend, “this is a CATHOLIC school—what do you expect?” 

But what these students DON’T understand— because it’s not their experience—is that even within Catholic schools, a priestly presence is an increasingly rare thing. 

What a blessing these men have been to our students. What a gift to St. Michael. What a gift to all of us! 

Once a Lion, Always...

I learned a few weeks ago that Most Pure Heart of Mary Catholic Elementary School is closing its doors when the 2021-2022 school year ends. I grieve this news, as do many. “Closing a school is like a death in the family,” someone told me recently, and I think that’s accurate. But just as we mourn someone's death at funerals, so too do we celebrate and remember that life, and all the ways he or she has affected us.

I am deeply grateful for Heart of Mary School. In a community that has served the black community of Mobile so profoundly well over its 100+ year history, I am one of its more unusual graduates: a white kid, class of 1976.

It was June of 1974—I had just completed 6th grade at St. Ignatius— when my parents called a “family meeting” to discuss something they said was very important. My sisters and I knew that meant one of us was in trouble, maybe all of us.

But it was a bigger bombshell than that: “We’re changing parishes,” my father said, “ and changing schools...”

I remember even before he completed this sentence, I didn’t like what he was saying. I had been at Ignatius since kindergarten and had some really good friends there: Vincent, Jimmy, Chris, Robby, David, and others—these guys were my world. And 6th grade had been pretty amazing year from the perspective of a 12 year old boy: an all-star in football, an altar server, all A’s, the Optimist Club winner that year. Why would I want to leave? I didn’t.

“...And we’ll be going to Most Pure Heart of Mary,” he said, finishing his pronouncement.

"Very funny Dad,” I said nervously, hoping he was joking. All I knew about Heart of Mary was they were a black school, and they killed us every year in CYO football.

But Dad wasn’t joking. There’s a short and a long explanation for my parents’ decision—here’s the short one: my parents and two other families were close to the Heart of Mary pastor at the time, Fr. Robert DeGrandis, and our families felt called to worship together and go to school together in his parish. So my three sisters and I enrolled at Heart of Mary, along with these two other families.

Sensing that football might be a way to be accepted by my 7th grade classmates, I joined the very team that had been beating us like a drum. That was the right decision, but it also turned out to be the hardest thing I ever did as a boy.

I remember the first practice, from early August 1974. Our head coach, Kermit Seals, was a large, dark black, Mobile policeman. He was fearsome in his countenance, and the only comfort I could glean at the time was the other kids seemed just as terrified of him as me. We started with exercise: “200 jumping jacks,” he said. We typically did 25 at St. Ignatius. “100 push-ups,” was next. I’d never done more than 30. 200 sit ups! Then “Six inches”. That was the worst—we were to lay on our backs, then lift our legs 6 inches off the ground, and hold them there until he said “Down.” As we groaned, he would walk around, standing on our stomachs, telling us, “if our muscles are strong, it shouldn’t hurt.” Well, it did hurt—we just couldn’t show it. “Ok,”he said, “take 10. “ Finally!” I thought, and began walking off the field for a water break. But he meant 10 laps, not ten minutes. As I started to jog my laps, my teammates ran past me, almost sprinting. “I’m not in Kansas anymore,” I remember thinking, in despair.

Indeed, it was a different world. Liability issues wouldn’t allow this today, but one of our toughening up drills was “Bull in the Ring.” One person stood in the middle, the "bull," surrounded by a circle of his teammates. Each kid in the circle had a number. When the coach called out a number, that player was supposed to run full steam into the bull and try to knock him off his feet. Coach called out numbers randomly, often in quick succession. If the bull didn’t spin around fast enough,  we were told to hit him in the back. And the way we played it, if the bull ever got knocked down, everyone could jump on him in a dog pile. It was a fight for survival. Typically, by the end of the drill we’d all have bloody noses, banged up arms, a sore back. But no one quit, because it was much worse to be labeled “sissy” or something more vulgar.

I was bigger than most, so I could hold my own. But that brought another worry. The weight limit for CYO ball was 132 pounds—I remember that number exactly, because I was always challenged by the other team to weigh in just before the game. “Weber,” Coach told me each week, “If you  can’t play, you’ll pay for it at practice.” I believed him! The long walk from the field to the weigh room at Sage Park was the 12 year old equivalent of a death march, but God was merciful—I always made the cut.

At  St. Ignatius, I played linebacker, running back, punter, kicker, punt returner and kick-returner. At Heart of Mary, I was strictly a blocking fullback. The two plays we ran about 80% of the time were sweep right, and sweep left. I was supposed to take out the defensive end, but it almost didn’t matter if I whiffed, as those guys had zero shot of tackling Chris Williams and our other backs in open space. But it mattered to Coach Seals! Once in practice, I missed the block. He walked over to me, and then began hitting me on the helmet, yelling at me.   “Run the same (bleeping) play again,” he barked at the offense, loud enough for the defense to hear. “And Weber, you better make the block this time.” I remember breathing fire, fighting back tears. I knocked the defensive end off his feet, then the linebacker, and then the safety, and the runner glided into the end zone, untouched. I walked back to the huddle with a bit of a strut, my chest puffed out some, and glanced over at Coach, expecting praise. “Weber, I see it now; you’ve been holding out on me. You should be doing that every play!”

And slowly, over time, my classmates and I became friends. There were cultural differences, to be sure. They thought I had a hearing problem, because I was unable to understand them at first, and found myself often asking them “What did you say?” They wondered what a “white boy” was doing in their school, and asked me if I were a member of the KKK. The girls found my hair fascinating, and would rub their hands through it, giggling.

Hindsight helps us appreciate things we didn’t once see. I have a lot of respect for Coach Seals. He was tough on us, but it was tough love. As a policeman, I’m guessing he saw a lot of “men without chests” (to use a C.S. Lewis phrase) and he wanted us to be better than that: stronger, tougher men, better fathers and more faithful husbands. He did me a huge favor by treating me exactly the same as he treated everyone else, and because of that, Andre, Byron, Keats, Julius, Allward, Orlando, Chris, Eric and others became my new friends, as I had “earned my stripes” alongside them.

There was a tremendous pride in self, in team, and school at Heart of Mary. I am not a scientist, so I don’t know if there are genetic differences between whites and blacks that explain the disproportionate success of the black athlete, but I knew this: athletic success meant more to them, and they worked harder at it. They were also less inhibited, less pretentious, easier with their laughter than the world I had known. They joked often about each other’s parents, which they called “janking.” When they started janking about my parents, I knew I was becoming one of them. They rolled in laughter when I tried to jank back about theirs.

We worshiped at Heart of Mary Church on Sundays. Masses were longer, but joyful. The gospel choir, accompanied by a jazz organist, was amazing. It didn’t matter what part of the liturgical season it was, at the end of the mass, we always sang “Ride On, King Jesus!” And loudly! My parents were part of the choir, which thinking back, must have been an amusing image, with my dad and mom, conspicuously white, singing and swaying to the music. The fact it didn’t seem unusual then was a testament to how thoroughly we'd become part of the HOM community, and how graciously they'd accepted us.

Occasionally, I will bump into a classmate from that era. We laugh, talk about CYO football, even remember a few jokes about each other’s parents. But without fail, we remember our experience at Heart of Mary with great gratitude. It formed us, just as it has formed so many others.

Thank you to my teammates and classmates. Thank you, Coach Seals. Thank you to Heart of Mary’s teachers, principals, priests and all those who have given their lives to serve and to lead us to Christ. What an incredible blessing you have been for me, and for the generations of students and families you’ve served over the last century!

May we always be the proud LIONS you’ve formed us to be.